Quicksilver as-11

by Àìàíäà Êâèê

  But it would have been nice to have had a family of her own.

  Chapter 21

  This was the first time you met your sister?" Owen asked.

  "Yes," Virginia said. "I knew of her, of course. My father told me about Elizabeth when she was born. But I had never even seen her. To be honest, I was shocked today when Lady Mansfield showed up on my doorstep, asking if Elizabeth was with me."

  They were in a carriage headed toward the scene of the second glass-reader murder. It was late enough to allow Virginia to read glasslight accurately.

  Owen was not certain what to make of Virginia's mood. She was composed, but he had the impression that her thoughts were focused on something other than the case.

  "Lady Mansfield obviously realized that it was only logical that her daughter would turn to you for answers about her talent," he said.

  "Helen will have to confront the fact that Elizabeth cannot simply pretend she does not see auras. Elizabeth may be able to conceal her talent from her friends and acquaintances, but she can't deny her ability to herself."

  "No, it is as much a part of her as her other senses. She needs guidance."

  "I suggested to Elizabeth that she consider joining the Arcane Society."

  "Good advice," he said.

  "She wanted to start attending lectures at the Institute. I explained that Arcane did not approve of the organization, due to the high percentage of charlatans associated with it."

  He watched her face in the shadows. "What was it like for you when you came into your talents?"

  "I was thirteen. My parents had been killed a few months earlier. I was living at Mrs. Peabody's School for Young Ladies. I had been seeing shadows off and on in mirrors for some time, but nothing distinct. I will never forget the first time I saw a true afterimage burned into a mirror. My mother had explained to me how her talent worked so I understood what I was perceiving, but it was still a great shock. The images really do look like ghosts and spirits."

  "Where was the mirror?"

  "In the school library. The school was housed in a mansion that had been the property of a wealthy family for several generations. Some of the mirrors were very old."

  "You saw something terrible in one of them?"

  "Yes. The mirror was at the far end of the library. I had not been comfortable in that room, but until that day I hadn't understood why. That afternoon I walked past the mirror and felt that sensation of awareness that one sometimes gets in the vicinity of strong, violent energy."

  "I know what you mean," Owen said.

  "Instinctively I heightened my talent and looked deep into the mirror. That was when I saw my first murder victim, a woman of perhaps nineteen or twenty."

  "Surely the murder had occurred long before you went to live at the boarding school?"

  "Yes, but I hadn't yet learned to sort out the sense of time that comes with the images. And murder always rattles the nerves, even if it is an old crime. I had to know what had happened, so I talked to some of the people who had worked in the school for a long time."

  "Did you learn anything?" Owen asked.

  "The old gardener had been employed by the former owners of the house. He told me the story. The young woman was a governess who was seduced by the eldest son, who was, in turn, engaged to an heiress. The governess got pregnant. The lady of the house let her go without a penny. The desperate governess tried to extort money from the lady by threatening to tell the son's fiancee about the pregnancy."

  "So the lady of the house murdered the governess to make certain she did not jeopardize the marriage plans."

  "There was a fortune at stake," Virginia said without inflection. "The family could not afford to have the fine marriage put at risk. So the lady of the house struck the governess on the head with a poker. The servants, including the gardener, were told that the governess had fallen and hit her head on a table, but they all knew the truth. One of the maids found the bloodstained poker."

  Virginia fell silent. She went back to watching the scene outside the carriage window.

  "How did you end up at the boarding school?" Owen asked after a moment.

  "Hmm?"Virginia did not take her attention off the street.

  "I have heard of Miss Peabody's school. It is not a charity orphanage. The fees are quite high. It takes in the illegitimate offspring of wealthy families who feel an obligation to care for the results of their indiscretions. The girls are educated for careers as governesses, ladies' companions and teachers. They are taught manners and etiquette. They do not go out into the world to work as maids or shopgirls."

  Virginia turned back to him, eyes widening a little, as she refocused on the question. "My father provided for me in his will. The school fees were paid until I left at seventeen, and I even received a small bequest when I was ready to go out on my own. It was enough money to allow me to start my career as a glass-reader."

  "That explains it," Owen said.

  The carriage clattered to a halt. He opened the door, got out and turned to assist Virginia down to the pavement. They walked through the park and along a quiet street of modest houses.

  "Mrs. Hackett lived in Number Twelve," Owen said.

  Virginia studied the dark windows. "I wonder if there will be another clockwork device on guard."

  "At least this time we will be prepared."

  He used the lock pick to open the kitchen door of Number Twelve.

  "I really must look into purchasing one of those tools," Virginia said.

  He looked at her as he rose and twisted the knob. "Why?"

  "I fancy the idea of being able to go through locked doors, I suppose. I'm not certain why. Perhaps I have a criminal mind."

  "I don't think so. I believe you are attracted to mysteries because you have encountered so many that you have not been able to solve."

  "I had not thought of it in quite that way. You may be right."

  He opened the door into a darkened rear hall. Whispers of energy wafted through the atmosphere like an ominous scent.

  "I think it is safe to say that Hackett did not die of natural causes any more than Ratford did," Virginia said.

  "No. It was murder. But then, I have known that from the beginning."

  They made short work of the ground floor and then climbed the stairs, listening for the thump and clank of a clockwork guard. This time there were no deadly surprises.

  Virginia looked through the open doorway of one of the bedrooms. "I wonder why he did not leave a device behind at this house."

  "He has concluded the experiment," Owen said.

  "What an unpleasant thought."

  He pushed open another door and heightened his talent. The mercury light indicating death by paranormal means shimmered in the atmosphere.

  "This is where he killed her," he said.

  Virginia walked into the bedroom. He felt energy suffuse the atmosphere and knew that she had raised her senses.

  "Mrs. Hackett was at her dressing table, just like Mrs. Ratford," Virginia said. "She is looking toward the bed, aware that whatever she sees is killing her and there is nothing she can do about it."

  "In these two murders, at least, Hollister appears to have established a pattern."

  "He requires a mirror, and he kills at night, because that is when glasslight is strongest."

  "Do you perceive flames in that mirror?"

  "Yes." Virginia contemplated the dressing-table glass again. "The fire is weak, but I can sense it. A small amount of raw energy somehow locked in stasis. It is very strange."

  "At least we now have a sense of his motive for killing the glass-readers in their bedrooms in front of their mirrors." Owen surveyed the space. "But to accomplish his goal he had to gain access to the most private room in the house in order to set up the murder machines. I wonder if he took both women by surprise or if they invited him into their bedrooms."

  Virginia turned away from the mirror. "I know what you are thinking. I am well aware that some women who claim to
channel spirits have a certain reputation that attracts male clients. While that may have been the case with Mrs. Ratford, I am certain it was not true of Mrs. Hackett. She was a middle-aged woman who took her work quite seriously. I doubt very much that she would have invited a client upstairs."

  Owen nodded, accepting her verdict. "You are certain that both women possessed some genuine talent?"

  "Yes."

  "Which means that out of all the charlatans and frauds in the psychical practitioner business, the killer managed to identify two true glass-readers."

  "If he is a talent himself, as we suspect, it is not surprising that he could discern others with real talent," Virginia said.

  "The other thing the victims had in common is that they were both affiliated with the Leybrook Institute."

  "Yes, but what is the connection to Hollister?" Virginia asked. "Neither Lord nor Lady Hollister were clients of the Institute until Lady Hollister commissioned a reading from me."

  "You were not chosen at random. Someone arranged to have you sent to the mansion. Who booked the appointment?"

  "Mr. Welch or his assistant, Mrs. Fordham," Virginia said. "I'm not sure which one actually accepted the booking. The note came from Mrs. Fordham. She maintains the master appointment journal."

  "Where does she keep the journal?"

  "In her office."

  "I believe I'll have a look at her files tonight."

  "I'll come with you," Virginia said.

  "No."

  "You'll need me to show you exactly where to look," Virginia insisted.

  "No. There is always a chance of getting caught when one engages in this sort of thing."

  "Nonsense. I'm sure you won't let that happen."

  There really was not that much risk involved, Owen assured himself an hour later. The Institute was deserted at night. Even if someone were to enter the premises, there was a number of exits that he could employ to remove Virginia in a timely manner.

  "I don't understand," Virginia said. "There is no record of my appointment with Lady Hollister."

  Owen struck another light and studied the appointment journal that was open on the assistant's desk. It showed no booking for Virginia on the night she had been sent to the mansion.

  "How did you receive word that you had been requested for a reading?"

  "The usual way. I got a message from Mrs. Fordham. It was a last minute booking. Mrs. Fordham explained in her note that Gilmore Leybrook himself was eager for me to accept the commission. Leybrook is very keen on attracting high-quality clients to the Institute."

  Chapter 22

  What do you know of Gilmore Leybrook?" Owen asked.

  "Very little, to be honest," Virginia said. "No one does. He is a talent of some kind, but I've never been certain of the exact nature of his ability. He arrived on the London scene about a year ago and established the Institute. He was successful right from the start."

  "He must have money, in that case. The Institute is an expensive operation."

  "One of Leybrook's many talents is his ability to attract funding for the Institute," Virginia said dryly. "He is charming and persuasive. There is something about him that draws people to him."

  "A side effect of his talent, perhaps, whatever it is."

  They were back on the street, walking toward the park, where Owen hoped that they would find a cab. That prospect was dimming rapidly. The streets around the Institute were empty. It was nearly midnight, and the fog had thickened to the point where the gas lamps appeared only as glary orbs in the mist, the light they cast all but useless.

  Part of him was attuned to the currents of the night, listening for the sound of footsteps that might signal the approach of a footpad. But they had the street to themselves. Normal people, not even normal street thieves, went abroad at night in such an impenetrable atmosphere, he thought. But he and Virginia were not what most people would call normal.

  It felt good to share the night and the hunt with this woman at his side. It felt right.

  "If we are correct in our initial conclusions, you were the killer's intended victim the night you read the looking glass for Lady Hollister," Owen said. "But things went wrong. Hollister ended up dead, and you and one of Hollister's other intended victims, Becky, escaped. I am quite certain the second killer did not plan that ending to the affair."

  "What was Becky doing there that night?" Virginia asked. "Why would she have been needed if I was the intended subject of the experiment?"

  "Good question. I asked one of my aunts to stop by the Elm Street charity house today to inquire about Becky."

  "You did?" Virginia turned her head quickly to look at him. "Was there any news of her?"

  "My Aunt Ethel reports that Mrs. Mallory was able to persuade Becky to attend the charity school."

  "I'm so glad," Virginia said. "If she learns typing or telegraphy she will have a chance to forge a respectable career for herself. She will be able to escape the streets. I still find it hard to believe that Arcane has taken over responsibility for the school."

  "A sign of a change in the organization, perhaps," Owen said.

  "I'm far from convinced that Arcane is truly changing, but I suppose I must allow for that possibility."

  They walked in silence for a time, their footsteps echoing eerily in the fog.

  "There is something else besides my talent and my association with the Institute that I have in common with Ratford and Hackett, now that I think about it," Virginia said after a while.

  He glanced at her, but in the darkness she was all but invisible to the eye. But not to his other senses, he thought. He would always know when she was anywhere in the vicinity. Her energy would always thrill him.

  "What is that?" he asked.

  "Ratford and Hackett were both spinsters with no immediate family. So am I. The deaths of women like us, those who are alone in the world, are almost certain to go unnoticed by the authorities."

  "The killer did not take Arcane and its new investigative agency into account," Owen said. A cold satisfaction flashed through him. "That will prove to be his great mistake."

  "No," Virginia said quietly. "His mistake was that he did not take you into account, Owen Sweetwater."

  At the end of the street, carriage lights glowed weakly in the fog.

  "We're in luck," Owen said.

  They quickened their pace. The driver was glad of the fare on what had evidently been a very slow night. Owen bundled Virginia into the cab and sat down across from her. The vehicle rumbled forward.

  "I may have an idea," Virginia said with a meditative air. "I do not know if it will be of any use, but you might find it of interest."

  "Tell me," he said.

  "There is a social event planned at the Institute tomorrow night. Everyone connected to the organization will be there. Leybrook is giving a reception in honor of D. D. Pinkerton, the mentalist from America. Pinkerton arrived recently in London and is very popular. Leybrook hopes to persuade him to become affiliated with the Institute."

  "You are thinking that perhaps the killer may be in the crowd?"

  "If he is involved with the Institute, as you believe, then yes, it is very likely that he will attend," Virginia said. "Of course, there will probably be over a hundred people there. That makes for a very large pool of suspects."

  "Yes, but we know a little more about him now. And I think there is every possibility that the killer will be drawn to you in the crowd."

  "What makes you believe that?"

  "You were the intended subject of his grand experiment, whatever it is, and you got away. You ruined his plans. He wanted you before, but now he will be obsessed with you."

  "You sound very sure of your analysis of his thinking."

  Owen looked out the window into the night. "It is what I do, Virginia. It is the way I hunt. I saw the killer's obsessive nature in the energy he left at the scenes of the murders. He is driven by a force that is as strong as physical passion. In fact, the compulsion is a fo
rm of sexual desire."

  She frowned. "I don't understand."

  Owen turned back to her. "When he returns to the scenes of the murders, he no doubt tells himself that he is merely studying the evidence of his successful experiments. But the truth is that the scenes of death arouse him in a sexual manner. He is thrilled by what he has accomplished."

  "Thrilled by the act of murder?"

  "The death scenes fill him with a ravishing sense of his own power. I suspect that in the past he has felt quite the opposite. Weak and powerless. Unimportant. But now he has found a way to make himself feel strong and powerful. He has become addicted to the sensation. He will continue to kill until he is stopped."

  She shuddered. "And all the while he will tell himself that he is actually conducting some sort of scientific experiment."

  "Yes. You say you plan to attend the reception at the Institute?"

  "Certainly. The receptions are good for business. Leybrook gives them regularly. My colleagues and competitors will all be present."

  "I will escort you."

  She blinked. "Are you serious?"

  "When it comes to the hunt, I am always serious."

  She pursed her lips. "I really don't think that is a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "I am planning to attend with a friend."

  He felt his insides tighten. "A male friend?"

  "No, a female friend. She owns a bookshop."

  "She is single also?"

  "Yes."

  "That shouldn't be a problem."

  "Owen, please, think about this for a moment. It is one thing to tell people that I am allowing you to conduct some tests and experiments on me. But if you appear with me at the reception, people may begin to suspect that our relationship is of an entirely different nature."

  "An intimate nature, do you mean?" he asked without inflection.

  Her mouth opened and closed, and then opened again. She waved her hands in a warding-off gesture.

  "There was only the one incident," she said quickly. "I am fully aware that our interlude the other night was the result of the effects of the intense energy that we encountered at the scene of the murder. It affected our nerves."